


all the strings that follow you

by andnowforyaya



Series: spiderman!youngjae [2]
Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Comics/Movie Crossover, Crime Fighting, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Terrorism, Triggers, Violence, i don't know anymore i'm sorry, spider-man!daejae, this was supposed to be about superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the span of twelve hours, Daehyun's life puts him through a blender and spits him back out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the strings that follow you

In the span of twelve hours, Daehyun's life puts him through a blender and spits him back out.

Exhibit A: Bang Yongguk calls the police on his step-dad, Brian, and Daehyun breaks up with him mercilessly on the same day.

He'd asked Yongguk not to, noble as his intentions were.

Exhibit B: He tip toes out of Youngjae's house in the morning, swiping the hoodie over the back of Youngjae's chair to slip on to ward off the crisp chill, and is met with his mother at the back door of their house with a duffel bag packed with a few days' worth of clothes and necessities, his camera, and his school bag.

"You should stay at your cousin's for a few days," she whispers, even though Brian must be asleep upstairs. She has circles under her eyes, and her hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in days, a fluffy halo around her head. She must have been very worried, to have mustered the energy to pack him a bag like this. "Just until he cools off, okay, baby? I've already called my sister."

Come with me, Daehyun wants to say. Let's leave and never come back. He'll never cool off.

But he takes the bags and his camera and his mom says, "Don't go to school today. You have..." Her hand reaches out and lightly traces over the swell of Daehyun's cheek, and he winces at the sting.

"Okay," he promises, and she lets him change his clothes in the kitchen before he goes.

Exhibit C: His cousin is just as goody-two-shoes as he remembers - even more than he remembers - and he watches Daehyun like he thinks he's going to set the bed on fire. He's not going to, of course, even though there was that one time.

He sits in the corner where the headboard and mattress meet the wall, and dumps the ashes of his cigarette into the mostly-empty glass of milk he's holding that he'd been given upon entering the small-ish and familiar apartment. Jongup narrows his eyes at the action.

"Smoking kills," he informs Daehyun from his seat at his desk. His cousin had come straight back to the apartment he shared with his mom after school and started on homework, looking surprised that Daehyun had already been in his room, gazing aimlessly out the window and listening to music through his phone.

"Slowly," Daehyun agrees, inhaling on the stick and exhaling deliberately. Jongup wrinkles his nose at the smell. Years ago, when Daehyun still lived in California and used to visit, they'd play together on the street or go to the local park and see who could land the most pebbles on a pole from ten to twenty paces away. They are close in age, Jongup a year younger, and when Daehyun had moved with his mom to New York, he'd thought at first that Jongup would be a fast friend.

Brian made it difficult to make friends. Daehyun only ever saw Jongup when his own mother wanted him out of the house, when Daehyun was reeling from a smack or atypically harsh comment, when all Daehyun wanted to do was sleep or cry or fight.

"What are you doing all day if you're not in school?" Jongup asks next, going over to the window to open it, so that some of the smoke can clear.

"Mostly this," Daehyun answers, and blows a series of three perfect smoke rings. He breaks the last one with his finger, grinning. His face hurts. His stomach hurts. There's a pull in his side whenever he moves, and his heart feels like it's going to explode with how worried he is about his mom. She'll be okay, though. His mom's a tough cookie, and Brian never lays a hand on her. He doesn't dare.

"Mom said you got into another fight," Jongup whispers, like it's a secret. 

It's not a secret; it's a lie. 

Daehyun clenches his teeth together and keeps grinning, and points to his cheek where he knows the bruise is blooming dark and ugly. "You should see the other guy."

Jongup chuckles, shakes his head. He gets back to his homework. He says, "If you spent more time studying and less time fighting, you'd be better off."

"Stop smoking, stop fighting, stop kissing boys. Jeez, it's like you don't want me to have any fun at all." Daehyun extinguishes the cigarette in the milk, watching the butt float up to the top.

"Just looking out for you," his cousin says good-naturedly. He wonders how the hell his aunt managed to raise such an agreeable kid in the middle of Queens.

"Well, keep looking," Daehyun mutters, putting the glass on the bedside table and flopping onto his back.

He's still wearing Youngjae's hoodie. It's warm, and smells vaguely like static and apples.

.

The next morning, Daehyun puts a little concealer on his face to lighten the bruise and heads to school, Youngjae's hoodie in his bag and a dozen or so unanswered messages on his phone. His friends are used to his absences, though he usually has to take the extra time to convince Baekhyun that he's not actually in a juvenile crime ring and that he's just wandering downtown taking pictures or stuck in bed with a raging headache. (Never mind that it's often neither of these things).

It takes him an extra half an hour to reach the school from his cousin's, and as Daehyun sways with the crowd to the rhythm of the morning commute, he thinks about how easy it would be to take this train to the end of the line, to hop a bus out of the city there. No one would stop him, and his mother wouldn't know until his aunt called her, much later tonight, when he'd already be a state away. But thinking of his mother makes him get off at the right stop, shouldering past the crowd and even seeing a few familiar faces on the walk from the above-ground platform to the high school.

His locker is one of the older models that the school hasn't gotten around to replacing just yet, so he bangs out the combo and hammers his fist into the door and it pops open, creaking. Then he stares into the space. What classes does he have this morning? And what day is it, anyway?

Shrugging, he pulls out a few books that are the most likely to be needed and swings his back pack around to stuff them inside. He'll need to catch up on classes today, again, and talk his way out of getting zeros for late assignments. As he's closing his locker door, his friend Baekhyun materializes beside him.

"Where were you?"

Baekhyun has a particular way of talking, fast and continuous, like he's trying to get all of his thoughts out of his head in one short breath, and he often forgets to leave time for other people to answer his questions, so when there's a pause, he really wants to know. He stands next to Daehyun and takes a small bite of the bagel in his hand, chewing quickly.

"In the city," Daehyun lies easily. "Around."

Baekhyun swallows. "Oh yeah? You don't normally skip this much. If you keep doing this the school's going to catch on, eventually? It's more trouble than it's worth, to be honest. You should just come in for homeroom, at least, and then cut out during lunch, or something. Then at least you're counted in attendance. You want some of my bagel? I picked it up this morning, but they put too much cream cheese in it." 

He holds up the bagel, and Daehyun chuckles, used to the onslaught of words and able to pick out what Baekhyun's really trying to say.

_Stop skipping. I'm worried. You look hungry._

Daehyun takes the offered bagel, takes a huge bite and plasters a smile on his face, and says, mouth stuffed full of food, "Thank you."

Baekhyun's ears flame red. 

Once, when they'd first met, they'd thought about dating, but they matched too well. When they kissed, Daehyun had felt like he was essentially kissing himself, and Baekhyun had haltingly agreed. The affection is still there though.

The first warning bell rings. Baekhyun says, "I'll see you in English, okay?"

Daehyun's schedule flickers through his brain. "When's that?"

"After lunch," Baekhyun answers, wrinkling a brow. "It's Wednesday."

"Oh," is all Daehyun says. He'd taken out the wrong books. "Yeah, see you."

Baekhyun walks away, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to give Daehyun a worried look, but Daehyun just opens up his locker again as the hallway empties. If it's Wednesday, he doesn't need the history books he'd pulled out before. If it's Wednesday, Brian has a double shift lasting until Thursday morning, and Daehyun will be able to call his mother.

He's closing his locker door again when he sees Yongguk striding toward him. The halls are nearly empty, now, and Daehyun is torn between making a run for it and standing his ground. 

Yongguk is purposeful - everything about Yongguk is purposeful. He's beautiful and lithe and carries such a strong sense of moral justice that it seems to lift him, to make his footsteps lighter over the streets. He's a good person, in every sense of the word. 

Daehyun stays where he is, and lets Yongguk reach him, and when he does, Yongguk's eyes are dark, and full of guilt. He gulps, tasting metal.

"Hey," Yongguk says, his voice deep and low. It makes Daehyun's knees feel like sand. "How are you."

It's not a question, not by the way Yongguk reaches out with a hand that hovers over Daehyun's cheek, over the concealed bruise.

"What happened after?" Yongguk asks when Daehyun doesn't respond, frozen.

"I don't want to talk about this here," Daehyun whispers, even though the hall is empty, now. The second bell has rung.

"I'm sorry that I--"

"I have to get to homeroom," Daehyun interrupts, words tripping over themselves. He flashes another smile, the one that his teachers love so much. "And it's okay. Don't apologize. I'm fine." 

His heart is hammering in his chest. Brian's presence doesn't belong in the school. He doesn't want to think about the things Brian does while he's standing in front of his locker, trying to get to class and pay attention to lessons. He looks up at Yongguk, hoping the panic doesn't bleed out of him for the other to see.

"I'm sorry," Yongguk says again.

"It's okay," Daehyun insists, but Yongguk is shaking his head. He looks conflicted. "Please," Daehyun continues, and it sounds like he's begging, now. 

Yongguk places both hands onto Daehyun's shoulders. For a moment, Daehyun thinks he's going to kiss him, but Yongguk just continues shaking his head.

"It's not right," Yongguk says firmly.

Daehyun can't breathe. His heart is pounding so loudly he can hear it in his ears. He has to get to homeroom.

He wills his feet to move, pushing past Yongguk and hitching the straps of his back pack into place on his shoulders, and he leaves him.

.

In homeroom, he takes Youngjae's hoodie from his bag and returns it to its owner. Himchan has his head down on the desk next to him, and is snoring softly.

"Oh," Youngjae says, quiet as their teacher takes attendance in the front. "I was looking for this."

"I meant to give it back to you earlier." Daehyun drags a spare stool from the back and sits at their table, smiling again and nodding his head at the teacher when he gets a stern eye for the noise and movement. The teacher goes back to taking attendance. 

"Sorry," Daehyun says, turning back to Youngjae. He looks tired, Daehyun thinks. He hopes he hasn't been worrying. He hates making people worry. "I'm staying at my cousin's," he adds. "For a few days."

Youngjae hums, nodding and pursing his lips. He seems preoccupied, and he keeps stealing glances at his friend dozing next to him. "I'm glad you're back," is all Youngjae says for the rest of homeroom, but it stills the rapid beating of Daehyun's heart.

.

After school, he takes the train into the city and gets off when he starts to feel his eyelids growing too heavy. He ends up at the Seaport, which is just about as far south he can go.

It's different down here. The sky is a little grey from an oncoming storm, and it matches the grey of the cobblestone sidewalks and the grey of the buildings across the river in Brooklyn. Along the pier, water splashes up against the cement walls and pigeons fight over scraps. It's cold, too, the breeze coming off the water turning icy and strong, enough that Daehyun wishes he had worn a heavier jacket, or at least a scarf.

He takes pictures of an old man fishing while sitting on an overturned crate, and obligingly snaps a shot of him with a crab that he had caught by chance, earlier. He takes pictures of a pack of middle school students in uniforms in front of a local pizza joint, grease dripping from the slices. He takes pictures of a couple walking their tiny dog on the boardwalk, of their linked hands. They even let him pet the dog, after, and he gets dog drool on his jeans.

When the sky gets too dark and the lighting too irritating to mess around with, Daehyun sits on a bench looking out over the water, the Brooklyn Bridge looming tall to his left, and he calls his mother.

She picks up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

He takes a shuddering breath, surprised that just the sound of her voice could have such an effect on him. The burning pressure of tears pricks at the backs of his eyes.

"Daehyun? Baby? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Daehyun manages, voice shaking and hoarse. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just wanted to see - to see if things were okay with you."

"I'm okay," his mother promises. He can hear her smiling. "I'm okay. Are you at your aunt's? I just remembered - tell Jongup that I'm sorry we missed his dance performance that other week, would you? I've been meaning to go."

Daehyun blinks, and feels tears trickling hot down his cheeks. He scrubs at them, annoyed. "I'll tell him," he says. "When can I come home? Is Brian coming around, yet?"

His mother pauses on the other end. "I think - no, he's not. You really riled him up this time, baby. I wish you wouldn't do that. And your friend, too? Brian is still so angry...He's going to need more time."

He thinks about what had happened that night, Brian bounding up the stairs, drunk and coming down from the adrenaline of witnessing some fight break out at the bar. Yongguk's frantic movement, dressing himself so quickly he'd tried putting both feet into the same pant leg, and then that moment when Brian had opened his door. Brian's huge silhouette in the frame.

He'd thought he'd smelled something funny, he'd said. He'd seen Yongguk's things on the staircase and come right up, and Daehyun had pushed Yongguk out, pleading with him to go, to get out.

Yongguk had escaped and Brian had said, "You want to know what a real man feels like?"

The first hit had sent Daehyun reeling, and he'd stumbled, on unsure footing and black seeping into the edges of his vision, as Brian had dragged him downstairs and out into their backyard.

"So Sunni doesn't have to see this," he'd spat.

Daehyun sits, and tries not to let any more tears fall, but his effort is wasted. They spill over now, humiliating and awful, and he can't say anything at all because he knows his voice will betray him. 

So Daehyun had riled him up, then.

"A few more days, Daehyun," his mother says softly, like she can sense it anyway. "I miss you."

Daehyun sniffs, leaning forward, and the tears fall onto his jeans instead. His fingers are beginning to freeze, exposed in the cold holding his phone to his ear. "Me, too," he whispers, and then he hangs up.

He pulls the hood up from his jacket over his head, and goes back to Queens.

.

Daehyun watches Baekhyun's mouth move but doesn't really hear anything he's saying. He picks at his lunch in front of him. Nothing seems appetizing. Baekhyun had dragged Jongdae to join them at lunch, so the two of them are chattering away about one of their classes or maybe a cute girl they saw or maybe their weekend plans.

"Mind if I take this?" 

Daehyun blinks. Baekhyun's holding one of the fries from his tray. He pushes the whole thing toward his friend. "Help yourself."

"Jung Daehyun, giving away his food?" Baekhyun gasps mockingly, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "What's wrong with you?"

Daehyun grins, but even to him it feels fake, and he's tired out by it quickly. "Nothing."

"No, really," Baekhyun persists, nudging him now in the shoulder as Jongdae helps himself to Daehyun's fries, too. "You're being weird today."

Daehyun shrugs. "I'm just tired. I stayed out too late last night."

"Get any good pictures?"

Daehyun shoots him a condescending look, and Baekhyun hunches his shoulders, smirking. "Okay, okay. Yes. I know - all your pictures are good. You spend so much time with your camera, though. I'm wondering if we should stage an intervention. Where'd you go, this time?"

They talk about the Seaport, and Daehyun shows them some of the pictures he had taken. Baekhyun especially likes the ones with the dog.

When the bell finally rings, Daehyun is exhausted from conversation. He feels the beginnings of a tension headache forming. He wonders how long he'll be able to keep this up.

"You really don't look that great," Baekhyun says again, uncharacteristically serious. "You want to come take a nap with me in the library? There's this nook that no one ever checks, and I have a free period after lunch, so."

Daehyun shakes his head. He can't afford to miss more Chemistry, which is what he has next.

"Not everyone has such a free and easy schedule, Baek," Jongdae says, rolling his eyes. He and Daehyun share a similar look of exasperation between them.

"Well, go to the nurse or something," Baekhyun nags.

"I'm fine."

At the doors to the library, Baekhyun waves off Jongdae and pulls Daehyun to the side, before he has to go through the detectors. "You say you're fine, a lot," he says quietly to Daehyun, and it makes knots form in Daehyun's stomach. "I hope you know what that word really means."

He looks at Daehyun, and Daehyun's breath catches in his throat. Baekhyun looks sad, and a little hurt, and worst of all, worried. "Don't forget that I'm, like, your  _best_ friend or something, and you can tell me anything, okay?"

It is his first reaction to smile. He beams it at Baekhyun and his friend frowns, taking Daehyun's hand.

"You don't get to use that smile on me," Baekhyun says.

.

The rest of the day isn't much better. He floats through classes and misses every question his teachers give to him to answer aloud, and can't even muster up the appropriate level of embarrassment for it. "I didn't do the reading," he starts to say eventually, when they ask, and they move on.

After the final bell, he shuffles to his locker, completely drained, thinking about Baekhyun's words and how many lies he's told his friend, and nearly throws himself into the metal when Youngjae taps him on the elbow, shy and as unobtrusive as possible.

He pulls at Daehyun before he can injure himself, though. "Okay?" he asks, voice calm and deep. Daehyun feels a wave of relief wash over him, hadn't even realized how tense he'd been all day until it rushes out of him all at once at the sound of Youngjae's voice.

He grins at Youngjae, who blinks a little in surprise, maybe at the force of it. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks. What's up?"

Youngjae looks at him like he's a puzzle he wants to figure out, and it makes Daehyun want to squirm, but his fingers are still at Daehyun's elbow and he focuses on that touch, instead.

Finally, Youngjae shrugs. "I'm walking to the train, since I have to go to Midtown. I thought maybe we could walk together? You said you were staying at your cousin's, right?"

He feels his grin turn genuine, and maybe Youngjae can sense it, too, because his features soften. "That would be nice," Daehyun tells him.

The walk recharges Daehyun; he's reminded of a time when he was much younger, and his mother drove them out to one of the beaches in Long Island, and they'd spent the entire day soaking up the sun and reading and napping on the warm sand, and the ocean had been cool and vast and amazing. He'd felt perfect after that day. He's not sure why he thinks of it, exactly, just that Youngjae feels like that - sweet enthusiasm and warmth and stability.

Their fingers brush together. Daehyun reaches and takes Youngjae's hand, pleased when Youngjae slots his palm tight against Daehyun's.

They don't speak much, but then he supposes they don't have to. 

When they get to the station, there's a pink-haired kid bouncing on the steps on the Manhattan-bound side, who lights up when he sees them. "Jae!" he calls, voice high enough that he probably hasn't fully experienced adolescence, yet.

Daehyun mimics, "Jae?" and Youngjae blushes, color high on his cheeks. He doesn't let go of Daehyun's hand.

"That's Junhong. The freshman that I helped out, remember?"

Daehyun remembers. It's sweet, he thinks. That Youngjae helped him, that Youngjae has an admirer. Junhong walks over to them, eyes bright, buzzing with energy.

"I wonder what he's doing here, though?" Youngjae mumbles so that only Daehyun can hear.

"My professor told me you're joining our engineering enrichment series at the institute," Junhong says quickly, and Youngjae blinks, his face scrunching up in thought. He's taken to wearing his glasses again. "You know, the one in Midtown? He told me to help you find the place today, but I totally forgot to tell you beforehand! It was really sudden, you joining. But he seemed pretty excited to have another member on the team."

"Engineering enrichment..." Youngjae tries, obviously putting together a jigsaw in his brain. His eyes flash. He's amazing to watch. "Oh! With the - " He mimes signing something with his other hand.

Junhong nods.

Daehyun has no idea what he's witnessing.

Youngjae stills next to him, while Junhong rocks back and forth on his toes, waiting. Then Youngjae sighs. He says, "So you're a part of it, too? You're going there, now?"

Junhong nods again, excited. Above them, the tracks start to shake with the weight of an oncoming train. "Let's go!" Junhong calls, clearly ecstatic.

"Oh, I--" Youngjae looks at Daehyun, at their hands still linked. Daehyun smiles at him, soft and sure. He lets go.

"See you tomorrow, Youngjae," he says.

.

Jongup isn't back yet when Daehyun gets to their apartment, but his aunt is, and she immediately clears the table in the small kitchen of old mail and papers to usher Daehyun in. 

"Sit. Do your homework. Are you hungry?" she asks, rapid-fire. "I'll make you a snack. Jongup won't be back home until late, and I have to get to my shift in a few minutes, so you're on your own for dinner. But there's leftovers and you can use whatever's in the fridge, okay?"

Daehyun sits, sliding the straps from his back pack from his shoulders slowly, watching Jongup's mother move around the kitchen so quickly his head spins. She starts opening and closing cabinets and soon, there's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of him on a plate, with the crusts cut off. He snickers when he sees it.

"You like grape jelly, right? Jongup loves this still, for some reason. He could eat three sandwiches in one sitting and another five just ten minutes later. I think I go through two jars of peanut butter a week." She laughs, bright and sweet, and Daehyun joins her.

"Thanks, Aunt Mehae," he says, eyes crinkling. It's been a while since anyone's cut the crusts off of a sandwich for him.

She says, "No problem, kiddo. Okay, I have to go. You're good, right?"

"I'm good," Daehyun agrees, nodding. The sandwich is a little sweet, and goes down smooth.

"I like having you around," she announces suddenly, on her way out, keys jangling in her hand. "Don't tell Jongup, but I think you make him more fun. He's so lost in his own head sometimes. You should visit, more."

She flashes another smile at him. Daehyun waves from the table, and the door slams shut.

The apartment, then, is quiet. He opens up one of his course books and gets to some of his assignments while snacking, but doesn't have the focus to finish anything. After realizing he's read the same question three times, Daehyun calls it a relative success - he'd completed at least over half of his homework - and he puts his plate in the sink.

The dishes are piled pretty high. Mehae never seems to have any time to herself, let alone to do any housework, so the apartment is in a bit of a state. It's not dirty, really, just messy. Daehyun starts washing the dishes, losing time in the routine of it. He thinks about his own kitchen as he looks around, taking it all in.

This is what a home should feel like, he thinks. When it's quiet, it's just that - quiet. 

He shouldn't have to whisper when he's speaking to his own mother. He shouldn't have to sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night because Brian had been in a snitch and banished him from the dinner table. He shouldn't know how to open his bedroom window and remove the mosquito-screen, how to climb out onto the roof without making a noise, how to sneak back in the same way, which stairs creak the loudest and which door has the most reliable locks.

Daehyun hisses as the water burns his hands suddenly, steam rising from the sink.

He wishes he could visit more, too, but he shouldn't get used to it.

.

He must have passed out pretty early the night before. He wakes before the sun is up, in Jongup's bed with the covers pulled over his shoulders, and when he rolls over he sees his cousin sleeping on the pile of blankets they'd laid out for his visit. Jongup is snoring, his chest rising and falling steadily. His mouth twitches a little in sleep as Daehyun watches, more awake than he's felt in days.

He lays in bed for a little longer, but eventually every position turns uncomfortable, and he knows he needs to get up. He catches the time on his phone. 5:43am. 

As silently as possible, he slides out of Jongup's bed and toes his way around the small bedroom, gathering his things and heading out to the bathroom. He deposits his backpack and camera on the floor in the hallway before entering, rubbing at his arms when the cool morning air hits him. They'd left the small window in the bathroom open. Daehyun closes it. He shuts the door, too, before turning the shower on.

He smiles at the boy in the mirror. Frowns. Shakes his head. When he doesn't smile, he looks too serious. Too hard-edged and maybe a little wild. He leans closer. The bruise on his cheek is mostly faded, by now, though still a little tender. He lifts his shirt and prods at the bruise under his ribs. It had been much worse, before, spotted with angry red and purple, but now it has lightened into a mottled swipe of yellow and green.

His hair is a mess around his head. His black roots are beginning to show, and Daehyun runs his fingers through the strands, wondering what color he should dye it, next. 

He takes a quick shower and sits around in the kitchen, after, nibbling on a granola bar he finds in one of the cabinets, and thinks about finishing the homework he hadn't gotten to the previous afternoon, but he looks out of the window and the sun is rising, and it's perfectly pink and orange, muted colors behind the stark black of telephone poles and old buildings, so he takes his camera and goes, bundling up in his jacket and one of Jongup's scarves he finds hooked over the back of a chair, and a beanie.

Daehyun takes pictures because he likes how instantaneous it is, how gratifying. He sees a beautiful moment or thing and he can capture it, forever, in high-definition. Beautiful things deserve to be preserved, he thinks.

He walks the long way to the local station that's above ground, finding abandoned bicycles and sleepy commuters waiting at the bus stop, catching a man unhitching a push-cart by the curb, who offers him a free cup of coffee. By the tracks, the sun is just starting to shine through the cracks between the pillars and wooden planks. A train passes by, too late for Daehyun to catch, so he looks through his viewfinder for something interesting to snap, and freezes when he sees movement on the side of one of the buildings adjacent the train station.

He lowers the camera, and stares.

There's a man dressed in all black perched on the side of the building, and as Daehyun watches, he launches himself off the side, and Daehyun yelps. "Hey, stop! What are you --"

But the words stick in his throat when the man swings up again, like he's on some invisible wire, and lands neatly in the space between two pillars underneath the platform for the train. The stranger looks right at Daehyun, seems to shrug his shoulders, and offers a cheeky wave.

Daehyun lifts his fingers in a weak imitation of it, stunned. Then the guy jumps again, swinging between the pillars, a black shadow in the still-dark morning. Daehyun hurriedly snaps a couple of pictures before he gets too far away, before he disappears behind another building and doesn't resurface again.

When he finally catches the next train, he sifts through the pictures he had taken, until he finds the ones of the man in black. He zooms in. The costume is a tight fit, forming a sleek silhouette against the light of the slowly rising sun. He has a photo of him mid-swing, legs long and lean. There's webbing on the costume. 

Zooms out. Zooms in. The train rocks.

"No way," Daehyun murmurs.

.

The photolab used to be a darkroom, until three years ago when the school decided to revamp its arts program and invest in some new equipment for the department. It's now a place where the school magazine and newspaper staff frequent, a tiny room with no windows crammed with desks and stacks of laptops and a giant printer in the corner.

When Daehyun opens the door to it, Yongguk is inside.

He stumbles to standing, and Daehyun can't help but smile, because Yongguk never stumbles, is almost never caught by surprise, but then he abruptly remembers the last time he was, and the smile falls from his face. 

"Hey," Yongguk rumbles, tilting his head at the intrusion. Daehyun's on the newspaper with him, but their meetings are usually after school, and only every other week, at that.

Regardless, he should have known the editor-in-chief would be here. Yongguk is always thinking of new stories to write, new columns and investigative reports.

"Hey," Daehyun greets back, quickly gaining his footing again. He closes the door behind him. The overhead lights when they're all on are a little harsh, so Yongguk usually just turns on the old floor lamp in the corner when they're meeting, and he's done that this morning, too, casting a warm yellow light in the room that doesn't quite reach its corners. "I saw something this morning," he continues, not wanting to toe around the issue.

Yongguk crosses his arms in front of his chest. His gaze is interested but skeptical. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I thought we should post it on the blog? It's not really a story, but it'll get us some hits and up demand for the paper when it comes out next week." Daehyun steps forward, un-looping the camera from around his neck and perching on the edge of the desk where Yongguk has been working, a laptop open on its surface.

Yongguk narrows his eyes. "Show me," he says, and he sits back down in his seat, opposite Daehyun.

Daehyun shows him.

The picture leaves a lot to be desired, but Yongguk agrees with him. They could post it. They could use the publicity and hype.

When it's done, when he's leaving, Yongguk's hand on his shoulder keeps him in the room for a moment longer, and he turns, camera back in hand, and Yongguk kisses him once on the cheek, soft and chaste and Daehyun almost groans, almost leans into it for more.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," Yongguk starts, hesitant and close. "I know. I just - I hope you know you  _can_ , if you want to. If you need to. You can ask for someone to help you. Or accept when someone wants to."

Daehyun blinks, suddenly sure his cheeks are flaming. "Please don't worry about me," he says.

"I can't stop it."

"Yongguk," Daehyun sighs. He's so close, and Yongguk is so warm. He places his palm on the other's chest and pushes, just a little. "You're such a good person. You want to help everyone. But sometimes people can't be helped."

"That's not true," Yongguk insists, his eyes catching the light. "That's not true."

"Sometimes bad things happen so worse things don't," Daehyun says.

Yongguk leans forward again, perhaps for another kiss, but Daehyun ducks away, opens the door behind him and steps out into the hallway. They face each other, and Yongguk murmurs, "They don't have to happen to you."

.

By the end of the day, their post has spread like wildfire. Daehyun's phone won't stop buzzing with notifications of people commenting on the picture he had uploaded with Yongguk, sharing the picture with friends, sharing the picture with people in the media. They hadn't even written much underneath it, just a small caption questioning whether or not Queens was getting its very own Spider-Man.

His email is inundated with requests - to buy the picture, to offer him commission for more. Daehyun bites his bottom lip as he searches through his inbox, but nothing jumps out at him, not even the ridiculous, continuously escalating buying offers.

He deletes most of them and slips his phone back into his pocket, where it continues to buzz. 

For a reason he can’t describe, he suddenly wishes that he hadn’t shared the photo with Yongguk, that he’d kept it to himself, untouched. Something about the costumed figure this morning was strikingly familiar, the way he moved, his off-hand and unexpected wave. 

He can almost picture a face behind the mask.

Then, his early mornings become a ritual: he awakes long before the alarm, before the sun has risen, takes a quick shower (quick smile), and straps his camera around his neck as his breath mists in the cold air. He takes the long way, and sometimes he sees him - the costumed man - but most of the time, he does not. He thinks he's deliberately slowing down, though, when Daehyun comes across him, now. 

The pictures he's able to take are less blurry.

He wonders if he'll still be able to find him, when he moves back home, after his mother calls and gives him the all-clear, her voice soft and muted and so apologetic.

Sometimes he imagines his house like it's one of those choose-your-prize situations on old game shows. The ones where the player has to choose a door to see what they get.

What's behind door number one? Is it the Brian who brings Daehyun to the firing range to teach him how to hold a gun, how to shoot? Is door number two the Brian who is sleepy with drink, who groans at the slightest noise but doesn't wake? Is it the Brian who thinks Daehyun is a waste of space, who greets him by throwing the nearest empty bottle of beer at his head? (Daehyun always ducks). It could be any of them, or it could be something new entirely. No matter which door he chooses, his step-father always seems to be behind it.

A week and a half after his mother asked him to stay at his cousin's, Daehyun stands in front of his house, straightens his shoulders, counts to three, and reaches for the door knob.

.

The screen door squeaks open and Daehyun pauses at the trash bins out back, bundled up in layers and hood drawn up over his head. He lights a cigarette, inhales.

Youngjae comes out, meeting him, and he smiles. "You're back home," Youngjae observes. He lifts the trash he's carrying into the appropriate cans.

"Yeah," Daehyun exhales, smoke furling around him. Youngjae wrinkles his nose. Daehyun pauses, cigarette between his lips, and really looks. 

Youngjae is different. His shoulders seem broader, his stance a little wider. He's lean, Daehyun realizes, can see it even though his body is hidden under lumpy clothes, can see it in the slimmer shape of Youngjae's face, and hard lines of his fingers. His smile - 

Daehyun gulps, because his smile seems new, too, and it makes Daehyun's stomach jump.

Youngjae reaches out, slow and deliberate, towards Daehyun's face, and brushes his fingers over his forehead, shifting the fringe there, and Daehyun almost chokes on smoke. He coughs, takes the cigarette out, and stamps it out on the ground. Youngjae says, "You changed your hair."

He'd dyed it almost as soon as he came home. The box had promised a sort of blue color but he'd ended up with a light, silvery-grey. Daehyun shrugs, trying to cover up the cough, still. "I was bored. You like it?"

"It's cool," Youngjae agrees, nodding. "But I always think it's cool, so I'm a little biased." His eyes glitter.

Daehyun flushes, suddenly and completely, feels a suppressed shiver wrack the little bones of his toes. "Oh," he breathes.

"How are things?" Youngjae asks next, eyes shifting from Daehyun for just a second as he looks past him, to his house. Daehyun doesn't follow the gaze. He looks down at the ground, a bit longingly at his extinguished cigarette, because that would have given him at least a buffer before answering.

Something about Youngjae - not just this strange new version of him, but even from the beginning - makes Daehyun want to reconsider his first reflex to lie, to pause before running his mouth. Maybe it's the soft earnestness of Youngjae's voice, the way he processes information, the way Daehyun is sure that no matter what he says, Youngjae will not judge him. So he toes the cigarette on the ground before looking up again and meeting Youngjae's eyes and admits, "I don't know. I'm kind of keeping to myself. I haven't talked to Brian since...you know."

"Is your mom all right?" Youngjae asks next, and Daehyun wishes he could melt into the ground, or maybe into Youngjae, because this question is exactly what  _should_ come next, he thinks.

He nods. "She's okay. Well, she's glad I'm home again, anyway."

"To your mom, does he...?" Youngjae asks hesitantly, and with anyone else, Daehyun would have shut down or snapped, but this is Youngjae. He knows exactly what Youngjae's curious about.

"No," Daehyun answers, now leaning against the fence. "No, he doesn't touch her."

Youngjae's mouth forms a tight, straight line. He brushes his fingers against Daehyun's fringe again. "Okay," he says, and he won't push anymore, Daehyun knows. There's a grim sort of finality in his eyes, though, and in his shoulders. With a start, Daehyun realizes: Youngjae looks dangerous.

He pulls his hand back soon after, scratching at his scalp, and he's back to the old Youngjae - baby-faced and shoulders slightly slumped. 

"How's it been going for you?" Daehyun asks, anything to fill the space between them now, which feels charged and foreign. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in ages. Not the same when I don't see you out here, huh?" He quirks his lips up at the corners.

"It's been a little weird, honestly," Youngjae says. "Himchan has been distant. And Junhong - you remember Junhong? - is kind of. Strange. And clingy." He pauses, reconsidering, his brow wrinkling. "No, clingy is too strong. He's just really enthusiastic. We're doing that class together, right? And it turns out the class will - take up a lot more time than expected."

He frowns, like he's not sure what he's just said.

"So, you're busy," Daehyun summarizes for him. "And meeting new people. And Himchan is being the usual."

"Yeah," Youngjae agrees. "I guess you could put it like that."

"That's cool."

Daehyun folds his hand over the top of the fence, bare fingers curled over the metal. Youngjae gives it a significant look, and then he reaches up again and wraps his thumb and forefinger around one of Daehyun's fingers, rubbing absently. The small action shoots warmth through his chest.

"You took that picture of the new Spider-Man," Youngjae starts, biting his lip.

"Sure did." 

"What do you think his deal is?"

"I don't know." Daehyun grins. "He seems really new. No pictures have surfaced of him actually fighting crime, you know? Maybe he's practicing. I always catch him way early in the morning, on my way to school."

"You have other pictures of him?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think it's worth it?" Youngjae asks, abruptly, and he's looking straight at Daehyun, determined. "Do you think having all these super-heroes in the city actually helps?"

"He's probably doing what he thinks is right." He shrugs, sliding his hand from Youngjae's to shove them into his pockets. "Everyone has their reasons. A little help is still help, right? As long as it's not hurting anyone."

Youngjae tilts his head to the side. "Huh," he says, with purpose.

Daehyun blinks, realizing what he's said, and then he can't meet his eyes. He shuffles from heel to toe, debating escape into the house. 

Youngjae takes pity on him, and changes the subject in a soft voice. "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Probably heading into the city. Take pictures. Maybe at the High Line? It's always nice there."

"Yeah? I'll be in the city, too. But in class. Engineering class."

"Brainiac," Daehyun teases.

Youngjae just smiles. He says, "The High Line is so far, though," which makes Daehyun pause again.

"I just like to be out of the house," he tells him, and his chest feels tight again, mind racing through the rooms within the walls behind him.

Youngjae looks past him, narrows his eyes at the structure. "Okay," he says again, gently.

.

Even in the winter, the High Line is crowded and stuffed almost to the edges with tourists and locals and street performers. Years ago, the city had transformed an abandoned set of train tracks high above ground into an urban park, of sorts, with man-made green spaces and benches and food stands. The High Line spans quite a few city blocks along the West side, and keeps expanding as it grows in popularity. People just seem to like the open space above ground level.

The day itself is promising - crisp and clear with little wind, and Daehyun headed out in a peacoat and scarf, snacks and his camera in one bag over his shoulder, prepared for a whole day outside of Queens.

He'd gotten quite a few good shots of some street acts - a magician wearing a red nose, a poet selling instant poems on an old type-writer, a food vendor making an excellent fish taco. 

He sits now on one of the benches the city had installed, going through his pictures. These benches have wheels on them that allow for movement along the tracks. Someone pushes the bench adjacent until it knocks against his, and he looks up from his camera at the interruption.

It's a girl. No, a young woman. She smiles at him, brilliant and so, so fake. Her hair just reaches her shoulders, and she looks smart in a leather jacket and tight jeans and heeled boots.

"Hey," she greets, so much like they're old friends that Daehyun flips through his memories, trying to place her. She sits on the bench she'd pushed, leaning against the sloped back, as if it were a sunchair and not a hard wooden table masquerading as a seat.

"Do I know you?"

She hums, pleased, closing her eyes against the white sun above them. "Not yet."

"Pardon?" Daehyun turns his body towards her, unable to help himself. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Objectively, she is beautiful. Daehyun focuses the camera on her, and snaps a shot of her relaxed pose.

"Shouldn't you ask first, before taking a picture?" she asks, lips curling. She opens one eye. "That's going to get you into trouble."

"Hasn't yet," Daehyun says. He shows her the picture and she sits up, dutifully looking it over before nodding.

"Nice," she praises, and Daehyun feels the tips of his ears go red. She seems sincere. "I have to go. You know what, though? I like the silver on you." She reaches out and ruffles his hair. "Makes you easy to spot." 

She walks away, and Daehyun stares after her, stunned, shocked, until the crowd swallows her up again.

His ears begin ringing before it happens, a swan song. 

And then the ground erupts underneath him.

.

Daehyun comes to. He thinks he comes to, anyway, but his head is throbbing and there's dust everywhere, and the ground is vibrating with the frantic footfalls of the panicked. When he tries to push himself off the ground, his arms give out, so he lets himself lay where he is, just for a moment longer, and rolls himself onto his back.

There's smoke in the air. As he watches, the smoke parts, and a man comes hurtling through it, directed and purposeful, and he lands just feet away from Daehyun's body, the impact so hard the ground shakes, and Daehyun rattles with it, instinctively curling in on himself when his head responds by drowning him in pain. 

"You," the man hisses. His voice is vaguely familiar. Daehyun can only catch a glimpse of him, his face covered by a mask, his body in what looks like a sleek test suit, before he's being hauled up by the front of his peacoat like he weighs nothing. " _You_ ," the man hisses again. The mask is torn where his mouth is. His teeth are sharp, like they'd been filed to points.

Something wet and warm trickles down the side of Daehyun's face. His vision swims as his heart races in his chest.

"You know," the man growls. "You took the pictures."

Daehyun struggles, feet kicking in the air. "I don't know anything. I don't know what you're talking about," he says. Maybe it doesn't all make it out of his mouth. His own voice sounds unfamiliar to him, high and needle-thin.

He's dropped unceremoniously, and his knees buckle underneath him as he folds over himself, breathing hard, trying to stop his heart from hammering right out of his chest. If it gets really bad, Daehyun knows, he could pass out. It's happened before.

"Get away from him," another voice commands, low and sure. Daehyun raises his head, just enough to see the costumed figure he's been chasing for the past few weeks struggling to hold the razor-toothed man back.

"You!" he growls again, this time at the Spider-Man. "You took something that was  _mine_." He rears back, throws a wild punch. Spider-Man dodges it easily, flips up and away and lands with grace.

"What? You want it back?" he asks, flippant, and the other one roars.

Daehyun ducks again, fingers kneading into the material of his peacoat above his chest, and tries to count to ten. He can do this. He has no business being in the middle of this fight, and he just needs to get up, walk on his own legs until he's a safe distance away, and then maybe it would be all right to close his eyes and give into the black seeping into his sight at the edges. 

The fight continues. He crawls, along the edge of the tracks, right by the fence, and wants to scream.

He's tired of this. Of everything. Of his rapid, uncontrollable heart and the constant anxiety that buzzes in his blood.

Something hauls him up again by the lapels of his jacket and Daehyun does scream this time, as loud as he can, and when he struggles it's with intent. He kicks out his foot viciously and it connects, but he isn't dropped. Instead, he opens his eyes and the razor-toothed man is smiling at him, crazy and crooked.

He says, "Oh, so you're going to fight back, now?" He pulls Daehyun close; his breath smells putrid, like something crawled into his mouth and died. "I think he's lying. I think you've always been smarter than what was good for you."

He's lifting Daehyun higher. In an instant, Daehyun knows what he intends. They are right at the railed edge, after all, and the ground is a hard, quick fall below them. "Please," he whispers, not quite sure what he's begging for.

When he lets go, everything happens like he's suddenly been thrown underwater. Sound comes to him through a filter, and he falls, the air gripping him, slowing him down. He reaches up, but there's nothing, just the white winter sun and gradually clearing smoke, and then --

He's floating. He opens his eyes.

He's in Spider-Man's arms, pressed right up against his chest, and the hero swings them both from the platform to the ground. They land heavily, but Spider-Man takes the brunt of the impact, grunting.

He puts Daehyun right, onto his feet, lingering for a moment when Daehyun sways, blinking the fog from his mind.

"Okay?" he asks, the tone familiar.

Daehyun shakes his head.

"He's gone," Spider-Man continues. "We're safe. You're safe."

Distantly, he hears the sound of sirens, and Spider-Man tenses, hearing them as well. "That's my cue to go," he whispers, a little sadly. He brushes the side of Daehyun's face, and it come away wet and glistening. "They'll help you. It's not as bad as it looks."

What's not as bad, Daehyun wants to ask, but he's already gone, up in the air after a single bound, and quickly growing the distance between them. He watches until Spider-Man becomes a dot in the sky, until he swings behind a building and disappears.

The sirens grow louder.

Daehyun takes a step back, then another, until finally, he turns on his heel and carries himself as quickly as he can away from the scene. There are other people in the wreckage, all suffering varying degrees of injury, and it's easy to slip past them as the authorities close in, as ambulances arrive and policemen file out of their cars.

Too late, Daehyun thinks.

He cleans himself up in the public bathroom of a bookstore around the corner, ignoring the interested and vaguely concerned looks of staff and customers. He'd had a small cut on his brow, right above his eye, but it has already stopped bleeding. In the mirror, he runs his fingers through his silver hair.  _Easy to spot_ , the girl had said.

He shivers.

.

Miraculously, his camera makes it through the ordeal. The pictures even come out bright and clear. He goes to a local copy store, and prints the ones he likes, and then he prints out a few choice ones of Spider-Man, too, that he'd taken before. He collects all the photos into a pile and leaves them on his desk. He'll sort through them later.

The media have taken to calling Spider-Man just that, while the other man has various labels, Sharktooth and Snakehead being Daehyun's favorites, but the simple name of Cobra seems to be catching on, because of the striking nature of the attack and eye-witness accounts of pointed, sharp teeth. The media have so many theories about why he chose the High Line that Daehyun's head spins with them.

It's Spider-Man, though, that Daehyun wants to figure out, to place. The mystery around the hero seems to pull at his gut.

On Sunday afternoon, it's raining and overcast, miserable because it's not cold enough to snow, and Daehyun drags himself back out of bed and down the stairs because his stomach has been grumbling since four hours ago.

Brian sits in the kitchen. He's reading the paper. On the cover is a huge, blown-up photo of the attack, right when the High Line's platform had almost been reduced to its iron skeleton. 

The floor of the kitchen is cold against his bare feet as he steps in, quiet, and Brian turns the page of the newspaper.

"Get me a glass of orange juice, would you? Since you're up," Brian says.

Daehyun does so, the glass clinking more loudly than he'd intended when he places it on the counter. Brian clears his throat and Daehyun winces. He pours himself a glass, too, stomach grumbling a little at the thought of having to wait another few hours before properly eating. He'd been planning to cook something up quick, but that's not happening now, now that his step-father's in the kitchen. He places one of the glasses by Brian's right hand.

"Well?" Brian asks. "Aren't you going to sit down?"

Daehyun sits, throat working.

Then Brian says, "You know. I'm sorry about the other night. That was way out of line."

He turns the page of the newspaper again, and then he folds it, crisp and clean, and lays it flat on top of the kitchen table. He looks up at Daehyun with dark eyes, and Daehyun has to look back, can't tear his gaze away. He doesn't believe a word he says.

Brian raises his hand and Daehyun doesn't flinch, doesn't let himself, even when he reaches closer, rubs his thumb along the soft skin under Daehyun's eye. He didn't flinch but his heart is doing cartwheels in his chest, and he's frozen, his breath trapped inside of him.

"I shouldn't have marked up your face," Brian says finally, letting him go. "It's pretty much your only strong point, am I right?" He drinks his orange juice in one long pull, and Daehyun can't answer. He smirks at Daehyun. Brian doesn't want an answer, anyway. "Where were you, yesterday? Why'd you come home so late?"

"With a friend," Daehyun answers immediately, as flatly as possible. "We were studying. I lost track of time."

"Sunni was worried," Brian says, his glance deprecating.

Daehyun gulps past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."

Brian nods to himself, a smug little grin on his face. "Good," he says. "You should be. Are you going to drink that, or waste it?" he adds, gesturing to the glass of orange juice in Daehyun's hand.

Daehyun drinks it while Brian watches, and when he's done he gets up to wash the glasses. Brian hates it when there's dishes in the sink. As he's leaving the kitchen, Brian picks the paper up again, and he mutters, "Pity you weren't at the High Line, yesterday."

He doesn't freeze, or tense up. He stumbles on a step on his way to his room, and shuts the door behind him, needing to hear the lock catch.

For the rest of the day he ignores the rumbling in his stomach, wishes his mother would wake up, and scrolls through the rest of the pictures he had taken yesterday at the park on his laptop.

In one of the pictures, his eye catches a familiar face in the crowd. He looks closely, and the features settle into a name on his tongue.

"Junhong."

Pink hair, pale skin, and a wide, stretched smile.

.

He'd almost thought his life would cut him a break, on Monday, when he walked to the station and found a train waiting for him, when he walked into homeroom on time and with an actual breakfast in his belly, when there was a pop quiz in history and he knew the answers to at least seven out of ten of the questions, when Youngjae curled his hand around his elbow at Daehyun's locker just to get his attention to ask him how he was. He tells Youngjae about his weekend, truthfully, and Youngjae reacts in all the right ways, eyes going wide, gasping. He brushes Daehyun's fringe out of the way again and checks the cut above his eye and pronounces it healing, and Daehyun laughs, really laughs, because Youngjae is just so great, and how did he never notice this before?

But of course, it was all just building up to this moment, just after lunch.

The metal doors of the lockers lining the hall shake with the force of the explosion coming from the chemistry rooms. There is a moment of utter stillness in the hallway, of disbelief, of the students looking at each other in wonder, before the alarm blares above them emergency lights flashing. Over the intercoms, their principal’s voice tells them, "This is not a drill."

Youngjae pulls at Daehyun's elbow again. They'd agreed to meet up before their next class together, and after lunch Daehyun had found him waiting for him at his locker.

"Let's move," Youngjae says, in a tone that begs no argument. He goes quickly, and the mass of students all heading the same direction as they are seems to part before them.

Himchan, out of breath and glistening a little with sweat, finds them both as they are reaching the doors.

"Thank god," he breathes. "You guys are okay."

"What happened?" Youngjae demands, his eyes narrowing. He pulls their trio to the steps outside of the school, where other students are milling, unsure of their next direction.

"There was an explosion," Himchan says, averting his eyes. "I--there's something I need to--"

Jongdae appears behind him, small and frantic. "Have you seen Baek?" he asks Daehyun directly, even though the others are listening.

"No," Youngjae answers for them. "We haven't."

He moves without thinking. Baekhyun is still inside. He's in the stupid library taking a stupid nap and the library is close to the chemistry labs, close enough that there could have been damage. He hears his name being called behind him, but doesn't stop as he pushes against the wave of bodies, the hands reaching for him, slipping through and back into the school.

Once he's inside, he runs. The hallway is empty, now, as soon as he turns a corner, and smoke is starting to fill the corridors. He turns another corner, races up a few flights of stairs, and ends on a ruined platform.

The chemistry rooms are destroyed - he can see that much. The school has three labs, and two of them have been blown wide open, a giant, gaping hole in the wall that should have separated the hall from the room itself. Daehyun swallows. Ten minutes later and he and Youngjae would have been sitting in those stools, now overturned and crooked.

Something rattles from within the rooms, startling him from his inaction.

Daehyun turns the other way, to the library, where it seems the explosions continued. The stacks have been overturned, books shredded on the floor, and dust fills the air. He thought it was an explosion in the chemistry labs, but this makes it look like someone has come in, someone has attacked the labs and moved on, to the library, and that someone is probably still in the school, roaming or waiting.

"Baek," he whispers, coughing from the dust. A noise answers him from the far corner. Daehyun dashes to it.

There's a pile of debris, what looks like a part of an old bookshelf and the bindings of books, and then there is Baekhyun, underneath it all. He's sweating and his face is white as a sheet. Daehyun crouches down immediately, and Baekhyun whines in pain.

"What happened?" he asks his friend frantically, searching for the source of his pain.

"What do you think happened?" Baekhyun whispers back, harshly. "I was taking a nap and something decided to explode and this fucking bookshelf fell on me and --" His words are cut off by a choked scream. Daehyun hastily covers his mouth with his hand.

"Shh, I think there's someone here."

"What the fuck does that mean?!" Baekhyun hisses, voice squeaking.

"It means I'm moving this off of you, and we're getting out of here, and you have to be as quiet as possible. Okay?"

Baekhyun nods, and Daehyun gets a grip on the shelf.

It's heavier than he expected, and Baekhyun groans when it moves just a little bit. He grits his teeth and uses his legs and lifts, and Baekhyun rolls out from underneath it, panting.

"You came back for me," Baekhyun gasps from lying on his back on the floor.

"You're like my best friend or something," Daehyun says, shooting back his own words.

Baekhyun chuckles, smirking. "Let's get out of here, Dae," he says.

"Can you walk?"

His friend sits up, gingerly, and reaches up for Daehyun to help pull him to his feet. He can stand, though he's a bit wobbly, and they won't be able to move very quickly. If he leans on Daehyun as a crutch, they can make do.

"Whoever's here has probably already moved past this section of the school," Daehyun reasons. "He won't be back unless he's looking for something."

"Do you think he's looking for something?"

Daehyun grimaces. "How would I know?"

"I don't know - you seem to know how to handle yourself in this kind of situation. Hidden depths, Dae."

They begin to walk, gradually picking up speed, and Baekhyun doesn't even cry out when they accidentally trip over a desk, aggravating his ankle. Down the stairs and down the hall, turning a corner and another, they can almost see escape, hear the chatter of excited and anxious students outside of the school, the abrupt noise of sirens, so many floors below them.

They reach a t-intersection of the halls, and then a body is launched into the lockers next to them, and Baekhyun immediately drops to the floor, yelling a loud obscenity, while Daehyun watches, limbs stiff, as Spider-Man picks himself back up, cracks his neck on both sides, and runs back in the direction he came.

Spider-Man is  _here_.

A crash resounds from down the hallway, where Spider-Man has run. His head turns to the noise, and it's him again. The man with razors for teeth. This time, Daehyun can focus more clearly, and he sees he's got equipment on his back, and something strapped to his hands. He raises them, and at the ends there is a pale yellow glow, getting brighter and bigger, until Daehyun realizes that those pale yellows things are coming towards him, and fast. 

Daehyun drags Baekhyun up and moves them both to the side, but the explosion still rocks them, still brings them both hurtling forward and tumbling over themselves. Baekhyun groans, coughing at the impact.

"Get up," Daehyun says, voice rough. "Get up and get out of here."

"I'm trying," Baekhyun says, but he is slow. 

Even through the ringing in his ears, he hears Cobra approaching, hears him kicking the wreckage of metal lockers to the side with ease.

 _Easy to spot_ , he remembers. Cobra had been coming for  _him_ , at the High Line, had only been distracted when Spider-Man came onto the scene. Before that, though, he’d wanted something that he thought Daehyun knew the answer to.

“ _You took the pictures_ ,” he’d hissed, and Daehyun almost wants to laugh. What was it that girl had said? That his camera was going to get him into trouble.

He looks but his friend is still shaky on his feet, and Spider-Man is gone from the hallway. Daehyun pushes himself off the ground, swaying a bit but quickly gaining his balance, and walks toward the attacker. “Don’t follow me,” he tells Baekhyun.

"Daehyun!" Baekhyun calls. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Get out of here!" he repeats, strangely calm. "I think I know what he wants."

"Are you  _crazy_?"

But he doesn't get to answer. Cobra stands before him, and he's huge, much taller than he'd thought, but slim and slight.

"You think you know what I want," Cobra hisses.

"Yeah," Daehyun says.

Cobra smiles, and it's a horrible sight, his sharp teeth fitting against each other. "What is it, then?"

The world tilts on its axis. Cobra crouches, but not quickly enough, and Spider-Man kicks him right under the chin, and he goes flying.

"It's me," a very familiar voice says. "Man, everyone wants a piece of me these days." Then he hooks Daehyun around his shoulders and under his knees and Daehyun gasps at the sudden lift, arms automatically coming around Spider-Man's neck for balance. "And now, I'm getting you out of here."

He carries carries him like this to a classroom, where the windows are shattered, and steps up a particularly large opening. "Ready?" he asks Daehyun.

"But, Baek--"

"Is already out."

"What do I--"

"Just hold on."

Daehyun does. His heart leaps to his throat when Spider-Man jumps, and he pulls himself up, even tighter and closer to his chest. He closes his eyes, and smells static and apples.

"Youngjae," Daehyun murmurs against Spider-Man's neck when they land, not quite wanting to let go just yet. Spider-Man tenses, but says nothing. "Don't go back in," he pleads. "You'll get hurt."

Youngjae sighs. He puts Daehyun down gently, and cups his palm over the curve of Daehyun's cheek when he's standing. "I wasn’t going to tell him about you,” Daehyun whispers. “I would never. Don’t go.”

“I have to. I can stop him. He needs to be stopped."

"Don't," Daehyun says, again.

But it's futile. Youngjae turns away, shooting webbing up at the window they've just jumped from, and hurtles himself back into the school.

.

The media has a field day on this one. The fight is left unresolved as both Spider-Man and Cobra disappear from the scene. News teams gather at the school and interview students at random, hoping for an exclusive.

In the chaos of it all, Daehyun makes sure that his friends are all right, and then he heads home.

He needs a moment to himself. Maybe more than a moment. He walks.

He thinks of what's going to be behind the door this time, and steals himself against it.

What he is not expecting is Brian sitting in the living room on the sofa, a cigarette in his mouth and empty tumbler in hand, a pile of glossy photo paper a mess on the coffee table in front of him. He steps in and Brian blows smoke out from his lips, has red lines in his eyes, and he rolls to standing. Alarms ring in Daehyun's mind.

Daehyun almost opens the door again and walks back out, but he looks more closely and those are his pictures on the table, his pictures Brian is gathering into his hand.

"Who the fuck," Brian slurs, "do you think you are."

He takes a shaky step forward, and throws one of the pictures in his hand at Daehyun. It flutters to the floor, harmless. It's the one Daehyun had posted on to their school's blog.

Brian takes another step forward. Tosses another picture. Another shot of Spider-Man by the train tracks.

"You had these all along," Brian says, approaching. Daehyun takes a step back.

"I just watched the news. We could have made big money on these, you little fuck," he spits. He tosses the rest of the pictures in his hand, and they slice through the air and float to the ground. Daehyun takes another step back, jaw clenched tight. If he runs, Brian will chase him. In this state, though, there's a good chance Daehyun can outrun him.

Brian must see the indecision in his eyes, in his body, because he lunges then, at Daehyun, at the strap of his camera around his neck, and wrestles him down to the ground as Daehyun fights, tries to stay upright. But Brian is huge and pins him easily. He bucks; Brian uses his own weight to keep Daehyun underneath him, and when Daehyun tries to use his hands, scratching and pushing, Brian takes both of Daehyun's wrists in one crushing grip.

He says, "What's the point of this stupid fucking camera around your neck, anyway?"

It's more vicious than he's ever been, Daehyun thinks, as Brian wrenches at the strap while holding onto his wrists. Brian can't get leverage with just one hand, though, and Daehyun is still moving beneath him, so he crushes his forearm against Daehyun's windpipe instead, throwing his weight behind it, and Daehyun panics, all of his struggling renewed and refocused to the pain quickly building in his throat. 

It burns, there's a fire in his lungs, and Brian is reaching, grunting. He finally takes the camera from around his neck, strap and all, and sits back, letting Daehyun breathe again.

Air rushes back cruelly, and Daehyun chokes, his throat protesting. His limbs feel disconnected from his body as sensation rushes back into them.

"Fucking waste of space," Brian hisses, and he lifts the camera high.

"No," Daehyun gasps out, still heaving on air. "No, stop!"

Brian brings the camera crashing to the floor, so close to Daehyun's ear that he hears the crunch of plastic, feels a jagged piece break off and slice his cheek shallowly. He raises it again.

Daehyun lifts himself from the ground, as much as he can, reaching for it, and Brian isn't expecting that at all. He nearly topples over and off of him, and it's enough for Daehyun to make a grab for his camera, to twist the strap around his wrist as Brian gets his bearings. He slides out from underneath Brian's bulk and stumbles to the stairs.

He's barely to the fourth step when he feels a hand wrap around his ankle and yank, and he goes down suddenly, ribs knocking against the hard edges of the stairs and narrowly biting off a chunk of his tongue. Brian pulls and Daehyun kicks, hard, hearing a sick snap before he's released again.

Someone screams. He hopes it was Brian.

He pulls himself up the steps, heart fluttering. He can feel his pulse in his ears, taste blood in his mouth. He rushes into his bedroom and locks the door behind him, stashing his camera in his dresser.

He waits, his breath whistling through his throat, the room dark and suddenly too small.

Brian breaks the lock. He kicks through it, splintering the wood at the knob, and Daehyun's never been this terrified in his life. He's going to die, he thinks. He's broken Brian's wrist and Brian's going to break his neck. He realizes he's panting, his breath coming in short and uneven, and Brian laughs. He  _laughs_.

"You think I won't fuck you up for this even if you're passed out?" he asks, holding his wrist up. "You ungrateful shit."

For the second time tonight, Brian lunges, and Daehyun's got nowhere to go but down, but he screams as he does so, loud enough that he's sure his neighbors will have heard. Brian promptly slaps him, sharp and cutting, across his cheek. He's stunned into silence, tears prickling to the surface, and then Brian slaps him again, and again.

His face is on fire. He feels something wet trickling out of his nose.

"I've decided," Brian announces. "If you can keep your mouth shut maybe I'll get tired of this faster." 

When he starts to stand, Daehyun pulls at Brian’s clothes. He doesn't want Brian to stand, frightened of the power he'll have over Daehyun if he does, but he keeps his mouth shut like his step-father said. Brian looms over him as blood leaks from his nose and his breathing shortens. Soon, he'll be too lightheaded to move, anyway. 

"Where the fuck is your camera," Brian demands. Daehyun shakes his head, as much as he can in his state. Brian pulls his foot back and kicks him in the ribs. Daehyun can't hold back the shout, as much as he can't hold back his reflex to curl in on himself on the floor.

"Tell me," Brian demands again. 

"No," Daehyun whispers.

"Think you have any say in this?" he hisses. He kicks him in the ribs again, and this time, Daehyun thinks he feels something shatter inside of him.

"Help!" he screams. "Please,  _anyone_."

Before he can say anymore, though, Brian kicks him again. It's hurts like he's been stabbed, and he can't breathe, can't move; he feels like he's been stripped down to nothing but this pain and the blood he tastes in the back of his throat. He's crying and shaking and Brian is a monster, always has been, and why doesn't his mother see that? 

Why doesn't she  _care_?

A shadow fills the doorway.

"Stop," Sunni whispers, though no one hears her. She takes a few steps forward into her son's room, and watches Brian attack the small figure on the floor. She reaches for his hand.

Brian turns suddenly and shoves her to the floor. He stares at his wife, shoulders heaving, as Daehyun coughs blood onto the carpet.

Sunni rights herself, slowly.

"I'm calling Daehyun an ambulance," she says. "You probably don't want to be here when they come."

Brian breathes through his nose like a bull. He glances back at Daehyun on the floor, then at his wife, and then he whispers, "You're still a fucking waste of time," and smashes his heel into the floor by Daehyun's face, chuckling when Daehyun's whole body flinches, when he hears the ragged breathing that follows.

He leaves, blundering down the steps. He'll wander to the bar and drink more, and then he'll stumble back in the morning, knocking on their door.

Sunni pulls herself over to Daehyun, gently moves so that he can lay his head in her lap. As she strokes his hair, Daehyun's control over his own breathing finally gives out, and he closes his eyes, and lets himself succumb.

"My baby," Sunni is saying. "My poor, poor baby."

.

Daehyun wakes up in the hospital. He hadn't really been expecting anything different, but the tubes in his nose give him a little scare, as does the frowning figure sitting by his bed. His entire body feels stiff like plaster, and he can feel the swelling on his cheek throbbing still.

"Morning," his cousin greets him.

"Morning," Daehyun tries to say, but it comes out like a croak. 

Jongup sits very, very still. He's never seen him like this before, so serious and focused.

"What's up," Daehyun whispers, because that seems to be all he can muster.

"I thought you were getting into fights," Jongup whispers back, forcing the words out between his teeth.

"Well," Daehyun says.

"If I ever see that fucker, I'm going to kill him," Jongup promises, voice steely. 

Daehyun blinks. Suddenly he's fighting back tears, and Jongup jumps up, hands fluttering over him as Daehyun shudders. "Oh god," Jongup says. "What did I do? I'm sorry. What did I do?"

"Nothing," Daehyun sniffs. It hurts, and he winces. "God, I just. I love you," he says. 

Jongup reaches for his hand where it's resting above his sheets and takes it, fingers warm and rough. "I love you, too."

He stands there, holding Daehyun's hand, until someone knocks at the door, and then he lets go abruptly. "Oh, yeah. It's visiting hours. There's someone here to see you? I wasn't sure who he was, or if I should let him in, you know?" He looks behind his shoulder, through the narrow window in the door.

Youngjae's face appears there, small and round and worried. The smile pulls at Daehyun's cheeks, but he smiles anyway. "You know him?" Jongup asks.

"Yeah," Daehyun breathes. "Yeah, you can - he can come in. Can you--"

"Leave you guys alone?"

Daehyun nods, embarrassed.

Jongup grouses, "Man, everyone I know is in a relationship," but leaves anyway, with a lingering, meaningful look at Youngjae when he enters.

Youngjae's eyes are bewildered, and Daehyun laughs, even though it hurts, because Youngjae is walking closer to him and sitting in the seat Jongup has just vacated, inching the seat closer to the bed, and without a word he takes hold of Daehyun's hand, presses his lips to the knuckles.

"My hero," Daehyun whispers.

"I wasn't there, this time," Youngjae whispers back, and there's something horrible in the way he looks down, at his feet. Daehyun switches the position of their hands so he can rub his thumb along Youngjae's palm.

"You need to protect the city against crazy villains and psychopaths. Not shitty step-fathers."

"I wanted to be there for you," Youngjae says, so soft that maybe Daehyun had imagined it, but something wet lands on the back of his hand. Youngjae's tears. It tugs at Daehyun's heart, that someone can feel something like that for him. 

He's crying again, ugly and uncontrollable, and Youngjae looks up, finally, takes tissues from the bedside table and dabs at the space underneath Daehyun's eyes. "I'm sorry," Youngjae whispers.

"It's not your fault," Daehyun says, his voice nearly gone.

"It's not your fault, either," Youngjae returns.

It hurts when Daehyun cries - his cheek and his chest and his heart. Youngjae leans forward and brushes his fringe to the side and kisses his forehead, soft and chaste and wonderful.

"I'm filing a report," Daehyun manages, between the sniffing and the shaking. "With the police."

"Okay," Youngjae says, nodding. He kisses his forehead again.

Daehyun closes his eyes, tilts his chin up.

"Will you come with me? Will you help me when they're asking me to answer their questions?"

"Yes," Youngjae says. He cups Daehyun's cheek in his palm, the side that is not bruised and swelling, and kisses him on the lips. "Yes, of course."

.

**Author's Note:**

> so a HUGE HUGE HUGE thank you to [suitofarmour](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suitofarmour/pseuds/suitofarmour) who beta'd for this and is an amazing human being ilu <333 sorry i'm dumb \o\
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://paperkrane.tumblr.com) or [give me a prompt](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/ask) :)


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